Don't Tell Me to Get Over It

A Guardian on the Death Watch

The Watch is Over

That wasn't easy to endure. Well, duh, right? But it left me far emptier than even I would have suspected, and I did expect it to shatter me. However, it's now been 3 months and I still feel just as raw, just as empty, just as shattered, just as fragile. As though a part of me is in that box, in the cold ground, rotting.  And it is. Oh, it is. Who can explain to the uninitiated the bond between a nurturing, empathic mother and her nurturing, empathic daughter after years of battling the harsh world together? In a relationship where much is communicated through tone of voice, facial expression, and deep understanding of one another, words themselves are mere embellishment.

But now those words are silenced by a divide that cannot be traversed by the living, and the dead are restricted from free communication with those they left behind.

Oh, I'll be fine. I'm a warrior. A survivor. This will not conquer me. But perhaps it's not unreasonable, given these circumstances, that it's taking me a bit longer than one might anticipate. Be patient. I always come out fighting.